


Don't Fear the Reaper

by Senor_Sparklefingers



Series: A Treatise on Godhood [1]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: AUish?, Gen, I have no idea what I'm doing, cr1 spoilers, discussion of religion, dnd deities, nebulous timeframe, post-cr1, post-search for grog, there's some weird tense stuff about halfway through because I have no idea what I'm doing, this is just a weird little writing idea I had
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-04-09
Packaged: 2020-01-07 14:41:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18412712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senor_Sparklefingers/pseuds/Senor_Sparklefingers
Summary: Euripides, Alcestis 455 ff :Oh, that it were in my power, and that I had the strength to bring you back to light from the dark of death with oars on the sunken river.(a discussion on the nature of the divine)





	Don't Fear the Reaper

Let us speak, for a moment, about godhood.

 

In our history, only two mortals have ever ascended to this position of sacred mortality and power. Both had done so through ancient, long forbidden and mostly forgotten rituals. In the case of one, they successfully fought and defeated a god, taking his place in the pantheon and ruling over the realm of Death from beyond the Divine Gate.

 

The other...well. We all know the tale of the rise and fall of the Whispered One. 

 

But the thing about godhood is that, for all we speak of deities and their powers, of their worshippers and their gifts...the  _ nature _ of a god is a strange, oddly flexible thing. And ascension is not so simple as a forbidden ritual, as it turns out. 

 

Look to the worship of ancient beings, created by the Betrayer Gods, and worshipped as deities themselves. Look to the Krynn Dynasty in the wastes of Xhorhas, and their worship of a mysterious god of light. Look to the archfey who tricked and duped his way into godhood. Look to cults, to warlocks, to powerful creatures operating outside of the Divine Gate who could, in their own way, fit the definition of a god.

  
  


Look to the Ferryman.

  
  


Many forget that, long ago, when the Raven Queen took her place among the gods, she only took on a small part of the role of the last god of death. She is the final moment, the point when the thread of life is cut and a person expires. She is fate, She is winter, She is Death.

 

But what of the soul? What of the person who expires? Beyond that moment of death, who cares for them? Who shepherds them to their final destination? Who acts in judgement of the damned and wicked, who protects the innocent? Who guides souls back when they are reborn, or resurrected and revived? None of this is the duty of the Matron of Ravens. None of this passage between one world and the next (and sometimes back, if fate demands it) is her domain.

 

But it is that of the Ferryman. Of Her Champion.

 

Once, he was mortal, just like his mistress. He lived, he laughed, he loved and was loved. He had a family, and friends, just like all of us do. He sacrificed himself, again and again and again, for those he cared for. He gained power and favor, and in the end, like all of us must, he left this world to join the side of the Matron.

 

(he had a name. It is still known, unlike that of his queen. But those who knew him, those who  _ loved  _ him, still live. And for them, we keep his name quiet, keep it sacred to them. It is not our place to speak it.)

 

There are those that would call him a harbinger of death. An ill omen. A grim reaper, as it were. And perhaps to some, that description is correct. For he does appear when death occurs. He watches, he waits, and when the time comes, he takes.

 

But he is also a shepherd. A caretaker, a watcher...the one who ferries souls back and forth between this life and the next. He is a soft smile and a gentle hand, the sound of wings in the wind. He is the light that catches on a black feather. He is the little extra  _ push _ during a resurrection, telling you,  _ it’s okay, it’s not your time. You can go back. Just…be more careful next time, yeah? _

 

_ Don’t want you to end up like me, after all _ .

 

All of this alone does not a god make. But...if one sees a raven and waves at it, gives it a little smile, or leaves a trinket out for it to collect (and oh, he always did enjoy stealing trinkets), is that not a form of worship? If, when watching a cleric try to call the soul of your friend back before it is too late, you think to yourself,  _ please, not yet, there’s still so much they need to do _ , is that not a prayer?

 

Do those who grieve the loss of their loved ones not find comfort knowing that, at least they’re with somebody who knows this pain? Who understands, and who will keep them safe and make sure they go where they need to? Who find grim pleasure in the deaths of those who truly deserve it, knowing their soul goes to one who will make sure they pay for eternity?

 

Is that not belief? Is that not  _ faith? _

 

Nobody can say for sure what the followers of the Matron think of the Ferryman. If the Raven Queen is accepting of one playing in her domain.

 

(a woman who’s name was long ago lost to time smiles behind a porcelain mask. She strokes long dark hair, hand catching on a beaded braid.  _ You have done well, my champion. My Vax’ildan. I am glad to have you at my side, for what it is worth. _

 

But we are not there to see. We will never know for sure.)

 

They are tied together, the Ferryman and the Raven Queen. He is still her servant, still doing work in our world in Her name. He just happens to have gained a small following of his own, that’s all.

 

We do not know how the other gods became such. Whether they emerged, fully formed and fully realized, or if they too were once like us. Weak. Temporary. Important. If they gained friends and families on Exandria, if they gained strength and power from their friends and in doing so became something so much  _ more. _

 

If so, it is a wonder why we do not see more deities, either on this side of the Gate or the next. After all, that is the funny thing about gates. They are only structures. One can slip through a crack, or dig under, or hop over…

 

(do not think about it too much. They would prefer you just accept things as they are.)

 

But then, it brings us back to the original topic. What makes a god, what defines the divine. Where does the Ferryman fall in all of this?

 

Is he like the Raven Queen? A mortal who gained godhood? No, not quite. He is certainly  _ not _ like the Whispered One, and the less said about him, the better.

 

No. The Ferryman was a mortal, who lived a mortal life and died a hero’s death. Just as many before him did and may after will continue to do. The world will continue to spin, and perhaps the small cult of people following him will fade in time. Or perhaps not.

 

But consider the following:

 

There is a shrine in Whitestone, a temple to the Matron. There is a small altar there, where there are three daggers and a belt that looks like a serpent. They are not an offering.

 

There is a bench in the woods that bears a name we will not say. There is a tree in Zephra where a raven roosts, watching and longing and saying nothing.

 

There will be others, someday. Offshoot in graveyards, altars with daggers and feathers, braided hair with bright beads that mark a cleric or paladin. 

 

Godhood is a funny thing. There are deities locked behind the Divine Gate who can help and guide in small ways, but do nothing more. There are ‘deities’ on the Prime Material, followed by small groups and cults, who grasp at powers they do not fully understand.

 

And then there are heroes. There is the Ferryman. They are both, and they are neither.

 

The words I have written would be considered blasphemy or treason to many. And yet, they must be said and considered. The world we live in now is balanced on a fine edge, and it would take so little to tip the balance…

 

...and perhaps the balance should be tipped. Perhaps change should be embraced. Perhaps we should explore and discuss these topics, consider their implications.

 

We should not fear the Ferryman. He did not sacrifice everything he was to become what he is now. I did not know him when he was alive. Not personally. There are few who did, now.

 

But I saw him. I saw his dedication to his Queen. I saw his belief and faith shining through the darkness, even as he let it take him in the end. And I saw others like him, others whose names may someday be said alongside his, whispered at homemade altars or in silent prayer.

 

And so I say. Consider the Ferryman. Consider what it is to be mortal, and what it is to be a god, and where that line blurs. 

 

And do not fear the Ferryman, the Reaper, the Everwatching Raven. Do not fear the Prince of Crows, just as you should not fear his Matron, his Queen. Do not fear the change that is coming.

 

Reflect on the world around you, on the gods and their tenants, and on their followers. Learn from us, from them. Consider the possibilities of the future, and what we have not been told of our pasts. 

 

After all, if I have convinced you of anything (and I do not claim to be the most eloquent writer), it should be that, if worst comes to worst, at least you will be met by one you can call friend. 

 

_ (from ‘A Treatise on Godhood, The Cult of the Ferryman, and the Implications of New Deities’, L.Toluse.) _


End file.
